


Billy's Birthday

by pippinmctaggart



Series: Billy's Birthday Fics [1]
Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Birthday Party, Dancing, Drinking, Established Relationship, M/M, Tiny bit of dialect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-08-28
Updated: 2004-08-28
Packaged: 2018-03-30 21:49:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3953017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pippinmctaggart/pseuds/pippinmctaggart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dom gives Billy an Orgasm for his birthday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Billy's Birthday

**Author's Note:**

> I intended to write a wee little ficlet for Billy's birthday. It kind of got away from me. (Shocking, I know.)

Dom looked Billy up and down admiringly. “Very nice, Mr. Boyd. Looking sharp in your old age. A lovely kilt, that one.”

“Old age? Careful, whelp. I’ll still be looking sharp long after ye’re gone.” Billy adjusted the cuffs of the black shirt he wore under the subtly patterned black waistcoat. “It _is_ a nice kilt, isn’t it?”

“Just said so, didn’t I? Is it new? Don’t remember seeing that one before.” Dom handed him his sporran, watched as he donned it.

“Aye. Ordered it a few months ago, but just got it the last time I was in Glasgow,” he said. “It’s too bloody hot in L.A. for the full kilt. Needed a new summer-weight one.”

“So what is it? The tartan, or plaid, or whatever the hell you call it. Which clan’s heritage are you pillaging?” Dom opened the door, waited for Billy to exit, then followed, locking their house behind them.

“Ye sure I’m not too formal?” Billy asked, frowning. “Ye’re hardly dressed tae the nines.”

“It’s not my birthday,” Dom waved him off. “The press’ll be after you, not me. ‘Sides, I never do anymore. Oscar night only.”

“Press? What press? Where the hell are ye taking me? And by the way, Dominic, I’ll have ye know this is a _Boyd_ tartan, it’s just the ancient colours, and if ye ever listened tae me, ye’d know I call it a tartan.”

As they climbed into the car, Dom behind the wheel, he grinned at Billy. “Pissy tonight, aren’t we?”

“That’s it. Tomorrow I’m sitting ye down and giving ye a lesson in kilt etiquette.”

Dom looked over at him as he started the car. “Will there be an exam on that?”

“ _Yes_.”

 

 

A few minutes later, Billy looked over, and he was smiling. “So where are we going? Give me hints, let’s see if I can guess before we get there. Ye already said press, so it’s somewhere public.”

“Well, I don’t actually think there will be press there,” Dom hedged. “It’s just that it’s L.A., isn’t it?”

“Another hint, then.”

“Umm…it’s in a building?”

Billy rolled his eyes. “That’s helpful. Is it big or small?”

“What, the building? Medium. Bigger than a house, but smaller than the Ritz-Carlton.”

Soon the clues—and the guesses—began to get ridiculous. Dom offered ‘black and white’, to which Billy guessed the penguin enclosure at the zoo. Dom laughed so hard he nearly drove into a fence, but as they were in a car park and only doing five miles an hour, it wasn’t particularly worrisome.

“Yeah, that’s it, Billy,” he gasped, shoulders shaking with mirth. “I made you wear a kilt to have piss-poor sushi in an icehouse with a bunch of short, pathetically flightless birds that as like as not would peck you to death before the night was out.”

Billy cocked his head. “Didn’t know penguins were that bloodthirsty. Perhaps not, then.”

Dom shut off the car and they climbed out, Billy looking around to see if he could spot any likely places. “Is there dancing?”

“Could be.” At Billy’s glare he gave in. “Probably, yes. I’ve never actually been here, but I’ve heard there usually is.”

“Sure. Use me as your guinea pig tae find a new club,” Billy teased.

“Actually, William, I searched far and wide to find a club to suit _you_. Not an easy task, you know.”

“Ha!” Billy crowed. “It’s a club!”

“Ah, bugger!” Dom dropped his head, turned away to hide his grin.

Laughing, Billy rounded the car and met up with Dom as he began to walk, throwing an arm over his shoulders. “If it makes ye feel any better, m’wee Dom, ye were a very tough nut tae crack.”

“Tough, yes. Wee—bite me, Boyd.”

Chuckling, Billy leaned in to whisper into his ear. “If ye like.”

“It’s _your_ birthday, not mine.” Dom waggled his eyebrows at Billy, and then ducked in for a lightning fast kiss.

 

 

Dom kept the exact destination a secret as long as he could, which wasn’t too difficult as the club they were headed to kept a low outside profile. He was steering Billy through the door almost before he realized they’d arrived.

“What, we’re here already? What about supper? I’m famished, Dom,” Billy protested.

“You’ll get your supper, hobbit.”

Billy elbowed him. “What kind of club is this, exactly?”

“Definitely up your alley.” But before Billy could demand an explanation, Elijah came through a door at the end of the hallway.

Even as Billy’s face lit up upon seeing Elijah, his stomach still pointed out with relief the unmistakable sounds of a dining room from beyond that doorway. “Elwood! What the hell are ye doin’ here? I thought ye were in New York!”

Elijah reached his two friends and gave Billy a huge embrace. “Happy birthday, man! I _was_ in New York, came back for you.”

“What a bloody fantastic surprise,” Billy beamed at him. “I thought I wasn’t going tae see ye again until November.”

“After tonight you won’t, I’m afraid,” Elijah pulled a face. “Fly out first thing in the morning. First fucking _early_ thing in the morning. But I couldn’t miss your birthday initiation, could I?” He grinned at Dom.

“Initiation?” Billy was starting to get suspicious. “Dom. What the hell kind of club is this, anyway? And why did ye make me wear a kilt?”

Elijah giggled, that unmistakably high-pitched but infectious laugh. “You _made_ him wear his kilt?”

“Yes, he did, an’ I want tae know why,” Billy demanded.

Dom smiled innocently at Billy. “Because you look sexy in a kilt. That’s all. Now let’s go in. Are the others here, ‘Lijah?”

Billy didn’t know which bit to question first, and ended up just being hustled along, spluttering, by the two younger men, through the door and into the dining room.

When they reached their table in the tall-ceilinged, dimly-lit room, Billy was astounded to find himself faced by Sean and Christine (who looked very fetching in a retro dress and with her hair waved, and who blushed and grinned when he kissed her cheek and told her so), by Viggo, and by Sean Bean, of all people. “Sean!” he nearly shouted, his face splitting into a delighted grin, and when Bean rose from his chair the two gave each other a thumping embrace. “What th’ fuck are ye doing here, ye Sheffield nancy?”

Bean laughed loudly. “Had to come over for some PR for the new film, you runty porridge wog. Dommie here convinced me to come a few days early and help get you well and truly pie-eyed tonight.”

Billy looked over at Dom, who was practically glowing with satisfaction. “I knew there was a reason I kept him around.”

He greeted Viggo, giving him a hug as well even though they’d seen each other not two days before. “Do ye know anything about an initiation?” he asked right in Viggo’s ear.

“I do.”

“Should I be worried?”

“No. You should not,” came the slow, quiet, amused answer, and Billy clapped him on the shoulder in relief. Viggo had never lied to him yet.

Dinner was a lighthearted, chatter-filled affair over a surprisingly old-fashioned (for L.A., Billy thought wryly) meal of tender roast beef, potatoes, and veg. Billy noticed the wait staff were in black and white, and snorted, and caught Dom grinning at him across the table after he’d observed Billy’s line of sight. Dom made a violent pecking motion with his hand, and Billy nearly sprayed his wine all over the tablecloth.

After dinner was over he looked forward to a good cup of coffee and a long chat with his much-missed friends, almost forgetting about the club and the dancing. He looked around, but the waiters had all disappeared, and the dining room seemed to be emptying out, but before he could question it, everyone was rising from their table, and he looked up, confused. Elijah giggled again and said, “Come on, Billy. Time for the entertainment.”

Which, of course, only succeeded in making him suspicious all over again. He wondered if this were some sort of new, sophisticated strip club, was about to announce he had no interest in lap dances when his eyes fell on Christine, and he bit his tongue. Hardly likely she would have joined them if it was a strip club. And hardly likely Sean would be here if it were a gay strip club. So Billy warily got to his feet, let Dom take his hand, and they trooped through the swinging doors at the opposite end of the dining room from where they’d entered.

And Billy found himself in World War II-era Britain. Dark, smoky, wood-paneled, with Union Jacks and bunting and pictures of airplanes and old recruiting posters framed and lining the walls, the room had small tables at the back, an open space obviously used as a dance floor at the front, flanked by a stage complete with red velvet curtains. He stood and stared, aware that Dom was pleased with his amazement. “What is this, Dom? What kind of club is this?” he asked, craning his head to look all around.

“Feels a bit like home, doesn’t it, Bills?” Dom asked, putting his arm around Billy’s waist and hugging him close to his hip.

“Your home, maybe, ye English twat,” Billy teased.

“Watch it, Jock,” Bean growled from behind them, grinning.

“What are you drinking tonight, Billy?” Viggo asked, indicating the long, highly-polished wooden bar that ran the length of the back of the room.

“Oh—ehm. Just a beer, thanks.”

“No, no, no.” Dom was shaking his head, seconded by Elijah who declared, “I don’t think so.”

“What? I’m not allowed tae drink beer anymore?”

“You can have beer any day of the week at home. It’s your birthday, go nuts,” Elijah instructed him. “You’re getting smashed tonight.”

“I am, am I?” Billy asked, amused. “All right, then. Make it a Sco—“

“And no Scotch, either,” Dom interjected quickly. “You drink that all the time, too. Something new, something different, to go with your initiation.”

“My initiation into _what_? Ye keep saying that, what the hell are ye talking about? Ye’re making me nervous, Dom.”

He laughed. “Absolutely no reason to be. And you’ll find out soon, I promise. Now what do you want to drink, Viggo’s waiting.”

“Fine. I’ll have—ehm. Fuck, I don’t know. I only ever drink beer and Scotch.” His forehead wrinkled.

“Exactly.” Dom nodded like that made sense.

“All right, then, Mr. New Experience, surprise me.”

Dom grinned widely. “I was hoping you’d say that.” He winked, and turned away to confer with Viggo.

Billy looked helplessly at Sean and Christine, who were kindly laughing at him.

 

 

A little while later they were all seated around two small tables they’d pushed together near the far wall. The room was small enough to see the stage from any vantage point. Dom had explained that they only allowed a certain number of people each night, there was a single seating at dinner, and then a single show in the club, so reservations were needed months in advance. Billy looked interested. “A show? Here?”

“Yep.”

“What kind of show?”

“You’ll find out.”

“Wanker.” Billy looked at the martini glass Viggo had set in front of him. “Martinis, eh? All right, I can handle that.”

Viggo smiled sympathetically at him.

“Martinis,” Dom said firmly. Then added, “But different flavours.”

“Like what?”

“You’ll find out.”

Billy turned his back on Dom to chat with Bean. Dom kissed the back of his neck. Without looking at him, Billy took his hand.

 

 

Twenty minutes later, the show began, and Billy was delighted from the first moment, as Dom had hoped he would be. It was a true, old-fashioned, 1940’s floor show, complete with rolled brunette hair, thinly-veiled naughty stories and jokes, and even a pinup girl wearing stockings with a seam up the back. The music was what Billy loved best, songs like _I’ll Be Seeing You_ , _The White Cliffs of Dover_ , _Goodnight Sweetheart_ , _For Me and My Gal_ , and even a hysterically funny _Der Fuhrer’s Face_. But when the show ended nearly an hour later with sweet, haunting renditions of _We’ll Meet Again_ and _Always in My Heart_ by a remarkably talented young woman, Billy pulled Dom close, dropped a kiss on his temple, and murmured thank you in his ear.

After the floor show was over, similar music played over the speakers, loudly enough for people to dance if they wished, although no one was doing so yet. Billy absently smiled every time his ear recognized one of his favourite standards, and drank the martinis set in front of him with a flourish as he talked with Sean and Christine, and after a while, Viggo.

“This one’s a Flirtini,” Elijah informed him quite seriously.

“This is a _Dirty_ Martini,” Bean kept a straight face, although his nostrils flared alarmingly.

Dom licked his lips as he delivered another drink just a little while later. “Slippery Knob,” was all he said, and Elijah (on his fourth gin and tonic) tittered. Billy stared at Elijah, and then stared at Dom.

Sean snorted with amusement, stood, and held out his hand to his wife. Billy was about to ask why they were leaving already when he realized they were just going to join the crowd that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere on the floor, and indulge in a little old-fashioned, romantic, cheek-to-cheek dancing. He watched, entranced, until he realized Viggo was speaking to him, and he knew that the martinis (and Slippery Knobs, but he wasn’t going to think about that one) were having an effect. “Sorry?”

Viggo smiled at him, tossed back another shot. “I said, you might want to go easy on those until after your initiation. It might go a little smoother.”

Billy groaned. “Bloody hell, Vig, can’t ye give me just a hint? How am I supposed tae be enjoying myself with this effing ‘initiation’ shite hanging over my head?”

Viggo just looked at him. Eventually said, “You seem to be managing so far.” And then he started to laugh, and to Billy it seemed just a tad too close to maniacal, and he hoped Viggo was just getting drunk himself.

Disgusted, Billy turned to ask Bean for help, only to find an empty chair beside him and Bean over at the bar chatting up a bird. He groaned again and dropped his head on his arms on the tabletop.

Just a short time later, Billy felt a hand on his head, lifted it to raise his best sad puppy-dog eyes on whoever it was.

Christine smiled at him. “Here, sweetie. Your next martini.”

“What’s this one called?” he moaned.

“I believe it’s a Woo Woo.”

The way Christine said it, the way her eyebrows wiggled as she did, made Billy snicker. Then giggle. And then, with the realization that Chris had just said ‘Woo Woo’ and he had just giggled, Billy started to laugh helplessly, long enough and loud enough that people at the next tables started to turn to look, grinning themselves.

It was at that unfortunate juncture that Dom bounded up, and where he’d been Billy had no idea. “Come on, Bills. Time for your initiation.” He grabbed Billy’s hand and pulled him out of his seat.

“But I’m having a Woo Woo,” Billy gasped, and had to bend over with his hands on his knees.

Dom crossed his arms, raised an eyebrow at Christine. “Darlin’. You weren’t supposed to bring him that one until _after_ the initiation.”

Poor Christine was laughing almost as hard as Billy. All she could do was wave her hands apologetically and walk away.

Billy weakly straightened up, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes. He took one look at Dom’s resigned face and dropped into his chair, howling again. “Woo Woo,” was his only warbling, feeble, flimsy apology.

Dom thumped down into the chair beside him, pouting.

Ten minutes later Billy had calmed down enough to finally follow when Dom got to his feet and demanded he cooperate right now, dammit. “Okay, Dom, where are we going, then?” he chuckled.

Dom just grabbed his hand and began leading him, threading their way through the tables, to the far side of the dance floor, in an out of the way corner.

Billy raised his eyebrows. “Ye’re going tae initiate me here?”

Dom frowned. “Yeah, why?”

“It’s just…not quite what I was expecting, after everything said earlier. Okay, what is it?”

“What were you expecting?”

“I’ll tell ye later,” Billy said hastily.

“Okay. _You_ ,” he said, suddenly cheerful again, “Are being initiated into swing dancing. And I’m going to teach you.”

Billy stared at him. “Swing dancing.”

“Yep. And I don’t want to hear a single argument—“

Billy began to laugh, but at the look of warning on Dom’s face, he quickly stifled it. “Ye’re going tae teach me.”

“Yes. I’ve set it up with the guy running the music. Well, okay, Elijah did,” he admitted. “He’s going to play a few songs of the same speed, same beat, in a row, so we’ve got a bit of time to practice when that starts. However, thanks to your little spasm back there,” he glowered darkly for a second, “I’ll have less time to teach you the steps. So pay attention.”

“Yes, sir,” Billy grinned.

Dom looked at him sideways, wondering if Billy was taking the piss out of him, but he looked willing enough. “All right. Start with your right foot, and step forward, then left forward, then right left in place. Just follow me.” Dom took his right hand in his own left, and led him in the first of the basic swing steps.

Billy let Dom direct him, let him lead, and tried not to step on his feet. Within ten minutes, though, Dom was impressed by his progress. “You’re a natural, Bills! It took me weeks to get this down. You always were more coordinated than me, though.”

“How exactly _did_ ye learn this, Dom?” Billy asked curiously as they practiced the simple turn Dom had just shown him.

“Lessons. Weeks of ‘em. Chris said she wanted to learn, but Sean wouldn’t do it. You know how he thinks he’s such a hamfoot. That’s it—can you do it faster?”

Billy did it faster. “When was this?”

Dom finally blushed. “The last three months. You know how I went to the gym every Tuesday night?”

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t go to the gym. At least, not to work out. I picked Chris up and we went for dance lessons.”

Billy stopped, not truly upset, but surprised. “Why did ye lie?”

“It wasn’t really a lie, Bills,” Dom wheedled, tightening his grip on Billy’s hand. “The lessons _were_ held in a gym. I wanted to surprise you, I was going to take you dancing. And then Chris told me about this place, so I called that night and made reservations for eight, not even knowing who exactly I’d invite.”

Billy counted in his head. “There’s only seven of us.”

“Orli was going to come.”

“Ah,” Billy understood. Orlando had been called back on location of his new movie for pickups at short notice.

“You’re not pissed, are you Bills?”

Billy leaned forward and gave him a quick peck on the lips. “No, Dom, I’m not pissed. This was a fantastically fun surprise.”

“Really?” His face lit up. “Oh, good. That’s good, Bills. That’s excellent. All right, then, shall we dance?”

They danced until they were breathless. The club was so relaxed, so casual, that two men dancing together didn’t raise an eyebrow—women were dancing with women, men with men, switching partners nearly every song. Dom and Billy stayed together until they were moving around each other easily, and Dom was thrilled with how well his plan had worked. Finally they took a break, and went back to the tables.

They were greeted with a round of applause. Dom bowed, and Billy demanded drinks. “Birthday boy, remember?”

“What do you want, Billy?” Sean asked, grinning.

Dom was about to speak, but Billy quickly said, “Have tae get back on the martini schedule.” He turned to Dom. “I was supposed tae have the Woo Woo now?”

Dom nodded, trying not to crack up at the intensely serious way Billy said ‘Woo Woo’.

“Then Sean, my good man, a Woo Woo it is.” And then he laughed out loud.

 

 

Once Billy’s sixth martini had been polished off, he decided it was time to dance again. He leaned over to Dom, laid his head on Dom’s shoulder. “Mind if I have a go with your dance partner?”

“’Course not. But Bills, you’d have to lead. It’s all backwards from what I taught you—“

“Piffle. I’m a natural, remember?” He stood before Dom could object, removed his waistcoat and slung it over his chair, and stole Christine away from her husband. He led her onto the floor, and grinned. “Ready?”

Christine looked at him closely, and then her lips curved. “You already knew how to swing dance.”

“Don’t tell Dom. He worked so hard, poor lad.”

Within thirty seconds of beginning to dance, though, Billy knew it would be obvious to anyone watching. Chris had learned her lessons well, and the two of them together moved fast, closely and intricately, and doing steps a lot more complicated than the ones Dom had ‘taught’ him. Knowing the secret was out, they danced together with enjoyment, and showed off just a little bit.

But when Billy returned to the table, breathless and laughing with Christine’s hand tucked in his elbow, Dom was standing waiting, tapping his foot, glaring. “You knew!” he accused. “You let me go through all that and you already knew how to do it all, you twat!”

Billy knew by the name calling that Dom was miffed, but not seriously angry. He sidled up to him, looked up at him with wide eyes through his lashes, timidly said, “But, I didn’t want tae ruin your surprise, m’wee Dom. It was so sweet, so romantic, it’s been the best birthday a lad could have—“

Dom snorted, punched him in the arm. “Wanker. When the fuck did you learn to do that?”

“What, the doe eyes? Got that from ye, didn’t I?” he teased.

“The dancing, fuckwit. No wonder you picked it up so fast.”

“School. We all had tae take a dance course. I took swing. And of course, if ye had _said_ ye were going tae take lessons, instead of _lying_ tae me…” He looked innocently up at the ceiling, whistling a little.

“I’ll get you for this, Boyd,” Dom warned, his eyes twinkling.

“I do hope so. Now, why is the birthday boy without a drink yet again?” he asked loudly.

Bean stood up. “I think it’s my turn again. Over here, Monaghan.” He gestured Dom over, and they had a quick conference out of Billy’s earshot.

Billy was looking forward to finding out what martini came in sequence after ‘dirty’, ‘slippery knob’, and ‘woo woo’. He didn’t have long to wait. Bean soon returned, set the seventh martini glass down in front of him.

“The Flying Scotsman.”

Billy laughed, and Dom leaned in to conspiratorially say, “It’s actually called The Flying Dutchman, but I told Beanie to have them splash in a bit of Scotch so it would be a bit more…appropriate.”

Billy tasted it, then squinched up his eyes. “Wow. The Scotch certainly makes it—unique.”

“Then it’s appropriate, isn’t it?”

 

 

The rest of the evening was spent talking, laughing, dancing, and occasionally, when a song came on that Billy was especially fond of, singing. Bean and Viggo had kept up with him drink for drink, and probably a few extra while he was dancing, and while that left Viggo sprawled in his chair discoursing philosophically with Sean, it meant Bean sang right along with Billy. There was brief mention of possibly recording an album of forties standards together, but the horror on Elijah’s face convinced them to leave further planning until they were sober.

Dom heard someone shout last call, and he got up to get Billy’s last martini of the night. Billy grabbed his arm.

“Where y’goin’, m’wee little mannie?” Billy asked, a complacent smirk on his face.

“Call me that again, Boyd, and you won’t get your final drink.”

“Ach, that would be a shame, so it would,” he said sadly. “What’ve I had? I’ve had. I’ve had a Flirtini. I’ve had a Dirty Martini, I’ve had a Slippery Knob, and I have tae say, Dom, that’s definitely been m’favourite so far, and I’ve had two Woo Woos and a Flying Scotsman. So aye, it would be a real shame not tae have that final drink.”

Dom leaned over, his hands on the arms of Billy’s chair. “It really would,” he murmured hotly into Billy’s ear. “Because then you wouldn’t get to have an Orgasm.”

Billy made a strangled noise, and, satisfied, Dom went to the bar.

When he returned, he remained on his feet and grandly announced to the entire group, “Billy Boyd. On the occasion of your thirty-somethingth birthday, and really, there’s no need to rub it in by saying it out loud, is there—“ Billy shook his head exaggeratedly, “—I present to you—your Orgasm!” and set the martini glass down in front of Billy.

Everyone was just drunk enough (and in a few cases more than drunk enough) to lift their glasses in a toast to Billy’s health and his Orgasm.

“Dom. Dom, m’love,” Billy said clearly, precisely, and obviously having to work for that. “Ye know what would be even better than an Orgasm for m’birthday, Dom?”

Dom grinned. “What’s that, Bills?”

Billy set his glass down and pointed with both forefingers toward the bar. “ _Multiple_ Orgasms, o’course.”

Dom’s hurried vow of, “Coming right up,” before he dashed off to the bar, hoping to still get in on last call, was drowned out by the shouts of laughter and cheers around the table.  



End file.
